“What troubles you?”

The king raised a hand and pressed the palm over his heart. “My own wise counselor tells me that there is dire wickedness afoot. Oh, it is quiet north of the Wall; there was no trouble. But I think it is because they are waiting, and avoiding us while they wait.”

“Have you spoken to Maximus about it?”

“I tried. We passed by Caer Seiont on our return, but he had gone oflf to Londinium again. Romans! If only they would fight the Picti and Attacotti as eagerly as they kill each other.” Elphin sighed. “Not that it matters. There are few enough legionaries left-five hundred at Luguvallium, not many more at Eboracum and Deva. Fullofaudes commands the Wall now, and he is vigilant, I give him that. But he trusts his scouts too much. Scouts, did I say? The cutthroats are little better than the vermin they are hired out to keep an eye on.”

“You could go to Londinium,” suggested Taliesin. “I would go with you, and some of your chiefs. We could speak to the legate.”

“I would climb back in that accursed saddle at once if I thought it would do any good. The legate believes that the southeast is more vulnerable. What men he has are put to work building forts along the southern coast, all to defend against a few fishing boats full of Saecsens-and this after the massacre in the north.”

“That was seven years ago, Father,” offered Taliesin gently.

Elphin considered this. He smiled slowly and shook his head. “So it was. But the same’ will happen again, maybe worse. It is beginning, Taliesin-the Dark Time. It seems I have been waiting half my life, but I swear I have never seen a darker time than this. I think Maximus realizes it as well and that is why he has gone to Londinium-to try to make them listen. They cannot bleed us dry up here and expect protection in the south.”

“What will you do?”

“What is there to do but look to our own defense?”

Taliesin remained silent. He had rarely seen his father so profoundly disturbed-angry yes, foaming with rage at the shortsighted stupidity of the emperor and governors and legion commanders, especially following the dreadful massacre of seven summers ago. But now Elphin, staunchest and most loyal of subjects, had all but abandoned the Roman leaders; this was new, and this concerned Taliesin.

Bit by bit he had seen it coming as each passing year increased the distance between the Cymry and their Roman protectors. The people were gradually returning to the old ways, the ways of their Briton ancestors.

“The Celt will live again,” said Taliesin.

“Eh?”

“It is just something Hafgan said. A prophecy which I fear is coming true.”

“Aye, too true. I wish Gwyddno were here,” said Elphin gloomily. “I miss him.” He raised his horn. “To strong arms, sharp iron, and fleet horses!” He downed the mead in a gulp. “Now let us join the merrymaking. We both know this could well be the last we see for a long, long time. And bring your harp, son. I have missed your singing these last months.”

Rhonwyn entered the house then and met them as they rose from the board. “Your people are asking for you, husband.”

“Let them go on asking,” Elphin said, wrapping his wife in a fierce bear hug. “I mean to have you first.”

“Go on with you, man!” exclaimed Rhonwyn, struggling in his embrace. But not, Taliesin noticed, struggling enough to free herself. “There will be time enough for making love.”

Elphin grinned. “That is where you are wrong, woman. There is never enough time for lovemaking. We must take it when we can.” He planted a great kiss on her lips, which she returned with passion.

“Ah, Taliesin lad, find yourself a lusty wife and you will be happy all your life.”

“Words to live by, Father,” laughed Taliesin.

“Just love her as much as you can,” said Rhonwyn, pulling Elphin toward the door, his arm still around her waist, “and you will never want for a happy home.”

They joined the celebration, which lasted two days. In this Elphin proved himself something of a prophet, for it was the last feast that year and for several years to corne. And for far too many, the last they were ever to see.

The golden days of autumn fell away one by one and the land prepared for its winter rest. Hafgan, upright and erect as ever, gray eyes still sharp as a hawk’s-although his long hair now showed more silver than brown-sat before his hut, watching a long, thin wisp of smoke float into a cool azure sky. He studied for a long time as the smoke braided and curled and flattened on the upper wind. At last he gathered his blue robe about him and hurried to Elphin’s hall.

“Fetch your lord,” he told a young warrior lolling before the door.

The young man pulled on his mustache, so Hafgan drew back and gave him a quick kick on the shin. The warrior nearly toppled to the ground. “Be quick with you,” the druid said.

A moment later Elphin was standing before his chief counselor blinking in the light and saying, “A bit early for kicking the hirelings, is it not, Hafgan?”

“Too late, more like.”

“What is it, then? What have you seen?”

“They are coming.”

“Picti?”

“From today we will no longer speak of Irish, Picti or Saecsen but of barbarian.”

“Do you mean to say they are all coming?”

“Why look so surprised? Have you not yourself often spoken of the coming darkness?”

“I had hoped for a few more years,” Elphin confessed.

“One year or another, one season more or less, what difference? Take the day as it comes, Elphin.”

“Do you see victory for us?”

“Better to ask your son. He sees these things much clearer than I.”

“I have not seen Taliesin for three days! Where is he when we need him?”

“He will be where he is needed most.”

A little while later, as the warband prepared to ride out again, they heard the iron ring out from the council oak.

Elphin and his closest advisors-Cuall, Redynvar, and Her-idd-hurried to the tree, where Taliesin waited, the iron striker in his hand. “I would have come to you, but there is no time to lose,” the young man explained. “Irish ships have been sighted looking for landfall Below M6n. Raiding parties have pushed as far south as Dubr Duiu. Diganhwy is under seige.”

Taliesin half-expected his father to react in the way of Celtic battielords of old-with quick anger and white-hot rage. Instead, the king was cool and decisive. “How many ships?” he asked.

“Thirty at least. Maybe more. Those that have landed were painted the color of the sea-hull, sails, and masts-to better hide among the waves. It was difficult to count them.”

“That is easily a thousand men!” exclaimed Heridd.

Cuall, already buckling on his leather breastplate, observed dryly, “Their thousand to our three hundred-why, they only want two thousand more to make it a fair fight!”

“Do we take them on the shore or let them come to us?” wondered Redynvar.

“If they mean to have this land, let them come and take it from us,” replied Heridd.

“No,” replied Elphin firmly. “That may do for us, but there are many small holdings and settlements that look to us for protection. We will meet them where they come ashore. We ride at once.” He had no need to say more. So well schooled were his men in the ways of war, their commander’s word silenced all discussion.

Hafgan arrived as the commanders dashed away to their various chores. Elphin lingered with the bards. “Do you see victory for us, son?”

Taliesin frowned. “I see much death and pain on both sides. Victory? Father, I tell you the truth, the man is not alive who will see this fight ended, let alone won.”

Elphin tightened his Belt. “Then it is best to begin it rightly and give those who come after an example they will never forget. Will you ride with us?”

“I would ride with you even if you had not asked me,” said Taliesin.